


Second Chances

by sidewinder



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode Related: s10e22: Zebras, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-11-09 05:16:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11097678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewinder/pseuds/sidewinder
Summary: Ryan didn’t remember much of anything about those first few days in the hospital. He supposed that was a good thing.





	Second Chances

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ApexOnHigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApexOnHigh/gifts).



Ryan didn’t remember much of anything about those first few days in the hospital. He supposed that was a good thing. A blessing, to be honest. The mind’s natural line of defense against a near-fatal injury, blocking out all that pain and trauma.

He couldn’t even recollect or tell anyone exactly what had happened to him. Everything in his mind was a blank after making that phone call to Elliot, and being so excited to show the detective his findings.

How could he have known a damned mosquito would almost end up costing him his life?

Ryan heard about it all later, of course. How Stuckey had confessed to stabbing him, to try to prevent him from revealing the truth. How it wasn’t until Benson had taken out the maniacal tech and rescued her partner that they’d finally checked on Ryan and realized he _wasn’t_ dead.

But he could only remember the noisy, beeping machines of the hospital, the people poking and prodding at him, every time he started to drift asleep. Everyone talking in loud voices _at_ him, trying to ask him questions, but he couldn’t recall or put together anything that they’d said. All of it was lost to his mental fog.

He remembered, distantly, being in terrible pain, the ache his chest with every breath the machines forced him to take. Thankfully he didn't remember the pain itself. The drugs hadn’t actually numbed how much it hurt. They’d only made him not care about anything but trying to sleep, wanting everyone to go away and leave him alone.

He remembered one face, though, through the blur of anonymous doctors and nurses. One person who’d given him comfort with his presence, who'd visited and stayed with him, talked to him in a way that the words he spoke didn’t matter. That man’s voice had been soothing, quieting his feelings of panic and confusion. His expression always kind, his eyes warm and the touch of his hand even warmer. Ryan had clung to that touch like a lifeline, the one thing keeping him from wanting to drift away forever into the inviting, soothing darkness.

 _“I’m here, Ryan,”_ he thought back on George Huang saying, over and over to him. _“Stay with me. It’s going to be okay.”_

George had been the only person outside of his close family who had come to see him in the hospital, throughout his entire recovery. The only person from his job, Ryan realized, who seemed to care.

Sure, the others sent flowers. There was a big, colorful bouquet from the SVU squad sitting on the table, along with a card they’d all signed. A large “Welcome Back” banner hung in the CSU lab when he was finally on his feet and ready to get back to work, almost two months later. But no one else had cared enough to brave the sterile discomfort of the hospital to be there with him and offer personal support.

Ryan wasn’t sure why George Huang, of all people, had been the one to do so. But he was determined to find out.

* * *

It would take some time to get to that, as work kept him busier than ever upon his return. There was a backlog of cases to review, as CSU had been short-staffed not by one but _two_ bodies for months. Ryan had a new assistant but he had to balance training her with catching up on tests to run, data to analyze, and his own still-compromised stamina. And George had been elusive since Ryan’s discharge from the hospital. He hadn’t called Ryan at home or stopped by—although with the way Ryan’s mother had hovered every day until he got back to work, he had been thankful for any solitary moments after a while.

And granted, George and Ryan’s paths didn’t cross on a daily basis. They worked opposite ends of cases: the psychological versus the scientific and tangible. They had only first run into each other on accident at the 16th precinct—one on his way in, the other leaving. A short conversation that day had sparked a touch of interest on Ryan’s part, a glimmer of attraction. But he’d never had the occasion to follow-up on that, not even when they later ran into each other at a GOAL meeting.

 _“I haven’t seen you here before,”_ Ryan had started the conversation, after the monthly business of the Gay Officers Action League had been finished and attendees had the rest of the evening to socialize.

 _“I rarely get time enough to try to have a social life,”_ George had explained. _“Between my primary job with the FBI and helping out as a consultant for the NYPD, I stay pretty busy. In fact I can’t recall the last time I had an actual ‘date’.”_

Ryan had been about to propose that he could rectify that situation when interrupted by an old friend now working in Narcotics. And when he’d turned around looking for Dr. Huang, the man had disappeared into the crowd.

That had been the extent of their interactions up until the day Stuckey had tried to kill Ryan. And George never stopped by the CSU labs to see how Ryan was doing, or to explain himself. After a while, Ryan even began to wonder if he hadn’t imagined the psychiatrist’s presence in his hospital room as part of a medication-induced hallucination. A fever-dream of an attractive man he’d wanted to get to know better, but had never worked up the courage to pursue. Maybe his subconscious had been trying to get through to him, he wondered, showing him how he’d nearly lost his life before making space for a serious, good relationship.

Ryan thought about these things almost daily since his return to work, but kept putting off doing anything about it.

Then one day he was in his lab with Detective Tutuola and Sergeant Munch, working another case with SVU. He was explaining the re-creation of a shooting and the bullet trajectories he’d completed, how the angles and projected lines indicated a self-inflicted wound made to look like another party—a now _dead_ other party—had been the one to make the shot.

“Wonder what Huang’s going to think of this,” Munch said to Fin.

Fin nodded and added, “Told ya I thought somethin’ was off with Patricia’s story. Sounds like she wanted to off her husband and make it look like he’d been tryin’ to kill her.”

“Huang’s working this case, too?” Ryan asked, his ears picking up at the mention of that name.

“Yeah,” Munch confirmed. “In fact he’s got an interview with Patricia scheduled for later today. Was supposed to be about verifying her stories of past abuse, but maybe we need him to take a different approach now.”

“We’d better show this to him right away,” Fin said.

“I can take care of that,” Ryan offered, jumping at the opening. At the detective’s questioning expressions, Ryan elaborated, “I can show him the recreation of the shooting on my laptop. It might be best if he sees it instead of just hears a description.”

Ryan’s excuse was a bit of a stretch, but the men looked at each other and shrugged. “All right,” Munch said. “Gives us the afternoon to go talk to his co-workers, see if they knew of any problems on the home front.”

“Hers, too,” Fin added and they went to leave.

“By the way, good to see you back on your feet, O’Halloran,” Munch added.

“Thanks. Good to be back.” Which was no lie. And since he’d been given this second chance, he felt it was long past due to make the most of it.

* * *

“Ryan. How are you doing?”

“Fine, thank you,” he said, entering the doctor’s office at the 16th precinct. “Keeping busy. Too busy after being out of commission for so long.”

“Well, try not to push yourself before you’re ready. And if you need to talk to anyone about what happened, to help handle your feelings, my door is always open.”

“I appreciate that,” Ryan said. Standing there, all the things he wanted to say next seemed awkward, out of place. Maybe he was flustered because seeing George again brought back those hazy memories of those hospital days, things he wasn’t sure he was ready to confront. Or maybe it was simply the attraction he felt toward the man, stronger now than he’d allowed himself to admit to before. “I…ah, actually had something to show you on the McCollum case,” he changed topic. “Based on my analysis of the crime scene I believe Patricia McCollum likely shot herself and then staged it to look like her husband did it.”

“Interesting.”

“Here, let me show you…”

Ryan set up his laptop on George’s desk, running the simulation to show his findings. He stood behind George, leaning over him to point out several details. The entire time he tried to stay focused on his work and not the closeness of the other man, the smell of his cologne. A fragrance he recognized for cutting through the antiseptic environment of his recovery room. Suddenly the scent memory brought back something else to his mind, something forgotten until now—

George’s hand, on his forehead, brushing back through his hair. And then…had George leaned in to kiss his forehead? Or had he dreamed that? Ryan didn’t realize he’d been lost in his muddled memories until he heard George calling his name again, looking now at him in puzzled confusion, not the laptop screen.

“Ryan?”

“I…sorry.” He straightened up and moved back, taking a deep breath. Forgot for a moment that doing so still made his chest hurt, left him feeling dizzy. He reached behind him to grip onto the bookshelf for momentary support. “Sorry, I…guess you were right about…pushing myself.”

“Please, have a seat. Take mine.” George stood and guided Ryan to the chair. “Do you need a glass of water?”

“No. I’ll be fine.” He breathed in slow, shallow breaths, until he felt himself growing more steady again. And then he felt embarrassed and tried to smile, dismiss it all. “I’m only supposed to be working half-day shifts right now, but it’s hard not to try to push myself to do more, I guess.”

“Often we feel guilty if our bodies—and minds—don’t heal as fast from trauma as we believe they should. But it can be a very long process, and there’s nothing to be ashamed about it.”

He nodded. And while he was here, and while he had already made a fool of himself, he decided he might as well take the next step. “Can I ask you something? About that…healing process.”

“Of course.”

“When I was in the hospital…did you come visit me there? Or was that just…there are a lot of things I don’t remember or can’t tell if they were real or not.”

“I was there. When I could manage to get away from the office.”

“Why?”

“Because…I thought you could use someone. And I suppose I felt a little guilty that I’d not made the effort to try to get to know you better before then.” The doctor rested against his desk and gave Ryan a small smile, looking a little embarrassed himself. “When I saw you at the meeting that one night, I was interested. But I’ve also had a long-standing rule against getting involved with someone in this line of work. Someone I might have to investigate cases with, side-by-side, in any fashion—or provide guidance to in a professional capacity. But when I heard you were injured and might not survive, I started to wonder if I’d made a mistake, missed an opportunity.”

“But you didn’t come to me since I started to recover, once I got home.”

“I didn’t want to rush you when you needed to concentrate on yourself.”

Ryan, this time, was the one to reach for the other man’s hand. “Maybe we both should see about taking advantage of second chances?”

George’s smile widened, and he laughed softly. The sweet sound of that laughter made Ryan grin as well. “You might be right. But at the moment I need to figure out how to deal with Patricia McCollum this afternoon. Perhaps…I can stop by after work this evening and we can talk some more?”

“I’d like that.”

“So would I.”

Ryan stood and closed up his laptop, went to the door to leave. He turned back to give George another smile, wondered for a moment if he shouldn’t have gone for a kiss, but…

…Well. They would have later tonight for that. To take it easy and see where this might lead. But he had the feeling it would be toward something good, something real.

Maybe that mosquito hadn’t nearly cost him his life after all, but in fact was leading him to living it for the very first time.


End file.
